


Siren's Song

by TheAbigailNicole



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Derek and Stiles, First Time, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAbigailNicole/pseuds/TheAbigailNicole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as the Alpha Pack leaves Beacon Hills, Derek and Stiles find themselves thrown together in unexpected ways when a whole new type of monster starts leaving its mark on the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are You a Virgin?

Rooted at the center of the renovated room, Stiles soaked in the splendor of the deep purples, greens and browns that permeated the décor. Unlike the charred remains that had only barely stood here only weeks before, this room sparkled with the life and warmth of a lived-in house. If Stiles didn’t know better, he would think that the person who lived here wanted to make his guests feel welcome—at home. As it was, he was just amazed that there wasn’t a single speck of black to be found anywhere. 

“Huh, I guess Derek didn’t get a say in the decorations,” he remarked to the empty room. His curiosity was killing him and he had to remind himself constantly that voyaging past the foyer would most likely end in extreme injury—if not, death. 

“Are you kidding?” A creepily-smiling Peter stepped out from the shadows. _Had he been there the whole time?_ “If we’d let Derek have a say in the renovations, the whole place would be covered in black and leather. Instead of couches, end-tables and fireplaces, we’d have exercise equipment, weapons and _maybe_ a flat-screen TV—if Derek was feeling particularly charitable to the rest of us who live here.” 

The man who had terrorized Stiles and his friends for months chuckled merrily at his own joke as though he were taking his new-found role of the _sane_ uncle seriously. Stiles wasn’t buying it. If he knew anything—and he usually did—Peter was up to something. Again. 

“Peter,” he said coldly, letting his uncharacteristic lack of words speak volumes for him. Despite his resolve to stay silent, he could feel the words and questions bubbling under his skin—itching to scream out in their usual bumbling way. 

“Stiles,” the man replied mockingly. “I assume you’re here to see my nephew. Although, why you would want to, I could never understand. Now that the Alpha pack is gone, he’s gone back to skulking around the shadows in his oh-so-charming way.” 

Stiles just grunts in ascent not trusting his vocal chords to not spew all of his secrets out onto the brand-new carpeting at Peter’s feet. _Maybe this is why Derek is always grunting, he thinks to himself. It’s not that he hasn’t learned how to use his big-boy words. He just doesn’t want to say too much._

Peter stays silent, waiting for Stiles to say more. Twiddling his thumbs and humming under his breath, he stares expectantly as if he can will Stiles’ mouth to move. Even though Stiles would deny it until his dying breath, the strategy was kind of working. He could feel the blame and hatred building inside of him ready to erupt at any moment. 

_How dare you lay a hand on Lydia?! How dare you use her as a vessel to come back to life? Do you realize that you nearly drove her crazy? Do you even care? For that matter, what makes you think it is okay for you to threaten to bite me? And after all this—everything you’ve done—you think it’s okay for you to stand here and talk to me like nothing happened?! Sure, I was forced to ally with you while the Alpha pack was here for my and Scott’s continued survival, but buddy? Newsflash? The danger has passed! It’s over! Done! Ca-put! And I want nothing to do with yo—_

“Hello, Stiles,” Derek appears at the top of the stairs, interrupting the intense staring-contest occurring below and Stiles’ train of thought. As he picks his way down the stairs, his usual glare lands squarely on Peter who just smiles back. 

“Finally, Derek! Don’t you have like super-wolf-hearing or something? You must have known I’ve been here! What took you so lon—?”

Derek turns his glare on Stiles until he shuts up before returning to staring Peter down. 

“This household is overly fond of intense-eye-communication,” Stiles mumbles under his breath. Both the werewolves glare at him this time. “Well, it’s true! It’s like living in an episode of America’s Next Top Model.” 

“On that note, I’d better skedaddle, wouldn’t you say? Have a nice chat with my nephew, Stiles. Try not to make his ears bleed too much. He’s sensitive,” Peter says as he waggles his fingers. Before Stiles can send a scathing, sarcastic reply back, he’s gone. _Werewolf or Flash in disguise? Now,_ that _is the question._

“Can I talk now that he’s gone?” Stiles asks. “Cause really I don’t think I can hold it in much longer. Like how in the world did this,” he waves his arms around manically, gesturing to the room around him, “happen? Last time I was here, which mind you was like less than a month ago, this place was a ruin—walls falling down, windows busted in, charred pieces of _everything everywhere._ Now, it’s like a freaking royal palace. It could actually pass an inspection. I bet it even has _electricity!_ Do you like officially live here now? Does _he?!_ ”

“Are you done?” Derek raises one of his stupid eyebrows. _I really need to ask him how he does that cause it looks so sex… cool… I will not refer to anything Derek Hale is or does as sexy. I will not refer to anything Derek Hale is or does as sexy. I will not refer to anything Derek Hale is or does as sexy… Maybe if I just keep repeating it over and over again in my head, it’ll actually happen…_

“I guess so, not really, but you can talk now.” 

“Thanks,” Derek responds dryly. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” 

“Oh, okay, so we’re ignoring everything I just said and getting straight to the point. I guess that’s just fine.” Stiles continues to mutter under his breath about the injustice of being so blatantly ignored. “The sidekick never gets notic—”

 _“Stiles,”_ Derek growls his name. _Yeah, Derek and sexy: kind of hard to differentiate the two. Heh, hard…_

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Stiles stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Erica called Scott and told him to be here, but he and Allison _just_ got the go ahead from her dad to get back together and so he’s… otherwise occupied. He sent me.” 

“Erica told Scott to be here?” 

“Yes.”

“And he sent you?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I just said? _Yes._ Erica called Scott, he sent me in his place. She said it was really important.” Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“Erica’s not here,” Derek replies shortly. “You can leave.” 

“Well, wait, what? Erica’s not here? Why would she want Scott to come here then? Unless it’s a diversion and she’s planning some sort of evil plot to take over the city and screw with the heads of teenage boys everywhere. That sounds like something Erica would do, right? We have to stop her! We have to save the boys!” 

“Calm your tits, sidekick,” Erica waltzes into the foyer. Once again she’s rocking her push-up bra, cleavage jiggling up to touch the sky, high heeled bad-ass look. _It’s a good look. Really brings out her eyes…_ Stiles thinks to himself. “I’m here. Why you are, though, I’m a bit confused about. I explicitly asked for baby-wolf, not boy-wonder.” 

“Yeah, well, you’ll have to deal with less muscly, less growly, but admittedly no less handsome member of our dynamic duo. I can relay information to Scott better than any of you fools and he’ll actually listen to me so why don’t you just spill your guts and we’ll all move on with our hopefully separate lives.” 

Erica strides forward, pushing into Stiles’ space. He can feel her sky-reaching breasts rubbing against his chest. Once again, he finds himself doing everything in his power to keep his eyes on hers and nowhere else. _Definitely not glancing down at her figure. Nope. Not even a little bit._

“Hmm,” she moans lightly, her breath fanning out against his neck. “But I don’t think you can handle it, honey. It’s a bit too _mature_ for you.” 

“Erica,” Derek warns from the doorway. The guy hadn’t moved once since he’d come down the stairs. A passerby might think he was a statue—a really, buff, stubbly, attractive statue. 

“Fine,” she whines in reply, sliding away from Stiles before perching against one of the walls. “But we have to wait for Isaac and Boyd to get here. This is pack business.” 

“What’s going on?” Derek asks quietly, concern coloring his tone. Somehow, no matter how many times he witnesses it, it still always surprises Stiles to see Derek showing any emotion other than stoicism or aggression. 

“It’s not anything too gruesome, don’t worry,” Erica reassures. “Just _something_ I saw at the club last night that we should probably take care of as soon as possible.”

“I swear to God, Erica,” Stiles starts, “If this has anything to do with you, alcohol and sex, I’m going to be forced to leave immediately so that I can bleach out my brain.” 

“Hey Stiles,” Erica sing-songs in reply. 

“Alright, we’re back to ignoring everything Stiles says. Great!” Stiles rolls his eyes, “What, Erica?” 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Well, technically, you already did. In fact, given the number of times people have asked that question only to get the same clichéd response that I just uttered, you would think to just ask the intended question instead of beating around the bush with that useless phrase. Honestly, that question ranks up there in uselessness alongside such questions as ‘Are you asleep?’ and ‘Would you like a blowjob?’ I mean, come on!” 

Erica just leans forward and whispers with a wicked glint in her eye, “Are you a virgin?” 

Stiles splutters, “Am I a—? Am I a vir—? Psh, no. Are—Are you a virgi—? How is this relevant? Derek!”

Derek just does the eyebrow thing again. _Seriously, how is that so attractive?!_

“Control your beta!” Stiles whines, pointing an accusing finger at the now cackling chick in the corner. 

For a second, Derek just stands there, staring at Stiles with the barest hint of amusement in his eyes. Finally, he turns to Erica and says, “Don’t torture the kid, Erica. He might blow a gasket.” 

“But, Derek! It’s actually an important question! You’ll understand in a moment,” Erica pouts.

“If it’s actually relevant, you can ask it again after you’ve debriefed us on this ‘situation.’” Derek replies. 

“Fine,” Erica crosses her arms and sinks back into the wall. 

_Hah, won that battle! Stiles-1, Erica-23._ Stiles thinks to himself, bobbing his head in victory. _And there’s the eyebrow again…_

“So… in the meantime, got a spot of tea, Derek?” Stiles asks in a sarcastic British accent. 

“No.” 

“Oh, come on, who knows how long we’ll be waiting for Thing 1 and Thing 2 to show up! And I don’t know about you, but I am _parched!_ ” 

“Shut up,” Erica and Derek say in tandem. 

“Fine,” Stiles sulks. “I’ll show you ‘shut up.’ I’ll be so quiet you won’t even know I’m here. You’ll never hear another word from these pretty pink lips of mine.” 

“That’ll be the day,” Erica says as she files her nails. 

“Seriously? Where were you keeping a _nail file_ in that outfit?” Stiles gawks. 

She just blows a kiss in response without looking up from her nails. 

Ten agonizing minutes later, the door creaks open and Isaac and Boyd walk in. 

_“Finally,”_ Stiles breathes out in relief. “It’s been like a week since I got here. I don’t think I could handle much more of these two.” 

“What’s going on?” Isaac asks, stepping forward to the center of the room. He barely spares Stiles a glance as he focuses on Erica. “Your text said there was an emergency?” 

“Oh, come on, is there a single person in the universe who does not ignore everything I say? Anyone?” Stiles waves his arms around like he believes that the more he moves around, the more people will be forced to acknowledge his existence. 

“Yeah, and why is _he_ here?” Boyd points to the gesticulating Stiles with a hint of disgust. 

“Hah! It worked!” Stiles joys happily, pounding the air. 

“He’s here for Scott,” Derek responds. “Why don’t you tell us what you saw, Erica?” 

“Of course,” Erica peps up with a flick of her hair. “It’s a bit of a story so strap in, boys.” 

“Just get on with it,” Derek warns. 

“Fine. I was at the club last night with Jackson and Lydia, celebrating our victory over the Alpha-pack when I noticed something. There was this kid next to us. He was _maybe_ fifteen, complete dork-factory—like his glasses had tape on them—but he was dancing with this totally hot chick. I mean, she looked like one of those Russian super-model types—tall, lean, foreign and body that could leave just about any girl quaking with enough insecurity to buy any amount of clothes and make-up in a futile attempt to look like her. That’s weird enough, right? But, like, maybe she has some weird fetish or something, right? Still, it was weird enough that when she started to lead him to the back of the club, I followed them—”

“Oh, yeah, that was totally your humanitarian concern for the well-being of the boy rather than your general perviness. Sure.” Stiles intones sarcastically. Every wolf in the room turns simultaneously to glare at him. “Okay, shutting up again now.” 

“As I was saying,” Erica re-starts, “I followed them to the back. And get this, as they’re making out against the wall, she starts _singing_. I don’t mean like humming a little ditty or moaning, I mean full-out Adele-level-crooning. It was actually really beautiful and I couldn’t tear my eyes away or _do anything_. Like I couldn’t move while I was listening to her. But she like gets his dick out and starts rubbing one out on him and right as he’s about to spurt a mile high, she _rips out his heart_. Right out of his chest, like ‘voom!’” She demonstrates on Isaac, digging her claws shallowly into his chest before pulling her arm away quickly. 

“You just stood there and watched?” Derek asked accusingly. 

“I couldn’t _move._ It’s like her voice just captivated me and I didn’t have control over my own body. It’s not like I _wanted_ to watch the poor kid die right in front of me.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got a Siren on your hands,” Peter reappears behind Stiles, making him jump a mile. 

“Dude!” 

“A Siren? Like from Greek mythology?” Isaac asks. 

“Exactly! Only, like most mythology, some of the preconceptions about Sirens are a bit… _off._ ” Peter begins pacing back and forth going into what Stiles likes to call “Professor-Mode.” “Sirens hunt virgins and prey on their—hmm, I guess you could call it _energy._ They pick out the virgin that most interest them sexually and then they take the form of the person or fantasy that most attracts their victim. You already know what happens when they hunt, thanks to Erica’s lovely rendition of the events from last night. Their most significant weapon is their ability to render anyone within a hearing distance completely helpless with just the sound of their enchanting voice. It’s all very exciting, wouldn’t you say?” Peter grins happily, looking for all the world like he was actually _enjoying_ this. 

“Yes, completely,” Derek responds dryly. “So how do we kill it?” 

“What Derek means to ask is ‘how do we _stop_ it?’ Because as we’ve learned over the year we’ve known each other, immediately jumping on the homicide-train leads to nothing good.” Stiles infers sharing a meaningful, reproachful look with the Alpha. 

“Of course,” he growls, “How do we _stop_ it?”

“You have to find a virgin with enough willpower to withstand its powers,” even as Peter says it, the entire pack turns to Stiles. Erica has glee dancing in her eyes.

“Oh, no.” 

“So, Stiles, I’ll ask again,” she giggles wickedly, pausing for effect. “Are you a virgin?” 

With every lie-detecting werewolf in the room training their eyes on him, there’s only one response that Stiles deems appropriate enough for that question. 

“Fuck. My. Life.”


	2. Batman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles struggles against the pack as they try to come up with a plan to tackle the Siren at the club that night.

“Just answer the question, Stiles,” Derek says as he pinches his forehead in exasperation. 

“I don’t… I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Stiles responds even as his mind races to find a life-vest that will keep him from drowning in all this embarrassment. 

“Do I need to spell it out for you, dork-o?” Erica steps forward into Stiles’ space _again._ “We need a virgin to stop this ‘Siren’ thing. You’re a virgin. Your lack of any sort of sexual appeal just became useful!” 

“But… I can’t possibly be the only virgin here,” Stiles whines. “I mean, Erica, there’s no way you’ve had much time in between all the Kanima and Alpha Pack jazz that’s been going on to… get it on, right?” 

Erica steps back and gestures smugly to her body, “What do you think, Sunshine?”

“Isaac? Boyd?” 

Thing 1 and Thing 2 just smile blithely back, not even bothering to humor the question with a response.

“Derek?” Stiles asks in a small voice. As a collective, every wolf in the room raises an eyebrow in perfect synchronization. “Yeah, dumb question…” He moans unhappily. “Fine! Yes, I’m a virgin! What do you want from me? Not all of us have perfect werewolf bodies and eyebrows that exude both sarcasm and sexiness simultaneously.”

Erica cackles, jumping up and down and clapping her hands with glee. 

“Okay, _you_ need to _stop,_ ” Stiles states bitterly. “If you want my help here, you’re going to have to be less… you and more… respectful. Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean that you’re allowed to treat me like a child. And you’re definitely not allowed to make fun of me. Got it?” 

“I would _never_ dream of making fun of you,” Erica nods along to her words. Her voice drips with the sort of false sincerity that makes Stiles want to tear his hair out. “Tell me, though, how long ago did your balls actually drop? Was it yesterday? Has it not happened yet? Oh, boys, we have a little Justin Bieber on our hands!” 

“That’s it!” Stiles storms past the laughing pack, past the always stoic Derek and out the door, muttering all the way about over-sexed werewolves. 

“I’m going to go back to that stupid club and find the first attractive female I see and I’m gonna _rock her world._ Then let’s see what they would do for their precious virgin-bait! I’ll show them ‘Justin Bieber.’ Have my balls dropped yet? I’ll show you dropped balls! Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fu-cccccccccckkkkkk!_ ” Stiles yells into the forest. He’s not even one hundred percent certain if he’s going the right way, letting his feet carry him wherever they wanted to go. “I’m going to transfer schools. Forget werewolves! I’m going to go live with _normal_ people! Where people aren’t buff enough to split wood with just the sheer force of their chest! Where females don’t wear their boobs as earrings! Wher—”

“Stiles,” Derek appears in front of him, resting against a tree like he’s been waiting there for hours.

“Blerg-sdkjfklejrkel!” Stiles jumps back a foot in the air, flailing his arms around in pseudo-karate moves. “Don’t _do_ that! God!” 

“Stiles,” he repeats again, leveling his gaze on the younger boy. 

“Can you _say_ anything other than my name? Or is that the only word in your vocabulary? ‘Hey Derek, do you want anything for breakfast?’” He mocks in a high-pitched voice with a twirl of his fake long hair. “’Stiles’” He responds to himself in the gravest voice he can manage. “’Oh, Derek, right there! Right there! Oh, yes, yes!’” He starts again, “’Stiles, Stiles! Stiles! _Stiles!_ ’ I mean, come on! ”

“Are you done?” The poor Sour Wolf asks, looking like he’s in physical pain just having this conversation. 

“You forgot to say my name,” Derek puts those furry eyebrows to work again. “Stiles,” the boy supplies. “You know, if you raised those eyebrows at me anymore, I think you’d be getting a full-fledged forehead workout. It’s getting absurd really how many times you’ve cocked one of those beauts at me rather than using your actual words. You do know what _words_ are, right? Communication? _Human_ communication.” 

“I was a Communications major in college,” Derek responds. 

“ _You_ went to _college_?” Stiles questions, his mouth dropping open in shock. “And you chose to study _communications_? Were you trying to throw away money? I mean, what classes do you take for a communications major? _Conversation 101_ featuring such lectures as ‘How to start a conversation,’ ‘How to listen,’ ‘How to respond to what you’ve heard,’ ‘What to do when you’ve stuck your foot in your mouth.’ I can see why you haven’t found a job since graduating! You obviously failed that class.” 

“I didn’t graduate.”

“Oh, yikes, did they kick you out when they realized that you have the worst ‘communication’ skills on the face of the planet?” 

“No,” Derek says dryly. “My sister died.” 

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Shit, uh…” Stiles scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Maybe a _Conversation 101_ class would be useful… That lecture about what to do when you’ve stuck your foot in your mouth? I could make great use of that right now…” 

“Stiles.”

“And we’re back to the name. Yes, _Derek_ , my name is Stiles. Congrats on knowing it! You’re extraordinary! Now, I’m leaving. So, bye.” 

The wolf steps in front of him, blocking his way. 

“We need you on this one,” Derek pauses before adding with the barest hint of a smile, “ _Stiles._ ” 

“You’ll just have to find yourself a different virgin, man,” Stiles intones exasperatedly. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be your bait.” 

“There is no one else. Everyone else in the pack has… experience and we can’t risk going to anyone outside the pack. We need _you._ ” 

Stiles groans miserably, unable to refute the logic Derek was spewing. 

“Ugh! Are you _kidding_ me?! The first time anyone acknowledges the fact that I, Stiles Stilinski, am instrumental to all of your stupid people’s survival and it’s for _this_?” The boy spends a few minutes kicking the ground, groaning in frustration, lamenting his existence and generally just throwing a tantrum that would make any two-year-old proud. “ _If_ I am going to do this,” he finally says, “You all are going to treat me like the freaking hero I am. I am _Batman_ , you hear? Bat-freaking-man! You need me, remember? Not the other way around. I have _leverage_!” 

“Batman,” Derek nods solemnly. “Sure.” 

“You’re making fun of me in your head, aren’t you?”

“Never.” 

“Oh, fuck you all sideways.” He turns back towards the house, “Well, let’s go.” 

Next thing Stiles knew Derek was grabbing him from behind and hauling him over his shoulder. “Seriously? _Seriously?!_ This is not how you treat Batman!” 

“You’re too slow,” Derek responds as he slips his hand further up Stiles’ thigh, holding him in place as he races back to the house. The motion of the run bounces Stiles head closer and closer to Derek’s butt until he could bite it if he wanted. _Close your eyes. Think about Scott. And Jackson. And Grandpa Argent in that bikini Lydia was wearing last summer. Hmm, Lydia. Dammit! No!_

“Put me down, you brute!” Stiles starts kicking out his legs as much as the hand Derek still has placed on his thigh will let him. The hand tightens for one agonizing moment before Stiles feels his foot connect with the only soft part of Derek’s body, making the wolf double over in pain, dropping Stiles in the process. Stiles looks up to find himself back in the house’s foyer with Isaac, Erica and Boyd all staring down at him and Derek. He briefly wonders where Peter disappeared to before standing up, brushing off his pants and commenting, “Well, _his_ balls have definitely dropped.” 

Behind him, he hears the maniacal laughter of his least favorite wolf, turning around he finds himself staring into the man’s phone camera. 

“Wave for the camera, Stiles!” The uncle chortles. “You’ve managed to kick Derek in the balls and _survive!_ This is a moment for the books.” 

“The survival part is under review,” Derek groans from his position of the floor. 

“I guess werewolf healing doesn’t translate to ball-kicking, huh?” Stiles smiles innocently, “Whoops!” 

Erica slings an arm over his shoulders, “Guess who just gained massive man points?”

The entire room erupts in laughter, continuing until Derek finally stands up to send a death glare around. 

“No one will ever speak of this again,” he growls, reaching out to grab Peter’s phone from him. 

“Uh-uh!” Peter evades him, putting the phone back in his pocket. “Uncle Peter doesn’t appreciate grabby nephews.” 

Derek crosses his arms bitterly, sending one final glare at Stiles. 

“So, where were we?” Erica asks. 

“We need a plan,” Boyd speaks up. “Some way to make sure that Stiles can resist the Siren and not get his heart yanked out of his chest like the kid Erica saw yesterday.” 

“No shit Sherlock,” Stiles responds. “I, personally, would love for my heart to stay right where it is. Anyone have any ideas?” 

“We should probably start by figuring out what your deepest, darkest fantasy is. Who is the Siren going to show up as? If we know that then you’ll have some forewarning for when they approach you,” Isaac provides logically. 

“Yeah, Sticks, who’s your biggest fantasy?” Erica smiles, cocking her hip out and biting her lip playfully. For a second, Stiles is captivated as she pokes her tongue out and runs it along her lips. 

Shaking his head, he responds immediately, “Lydia.” 

Erica deflates. 

Clearing his throat, Stiles starts again. “If it shows up to me, it’ll show up as Lydia.” 

“Right,” Derek once again illustrates his expertise with monosyllabic responses. “So, we’ll all go with you to the club and if we see Lydia approach you, we’ll attack.”  
“Hang on, Derek,” Peter infers. “We can’t do anything. If we want to get rid of this thing, Stiles will have to reject it. It’s impervious to anything else. If we try to attack it physically, it will just disappear and we might not get another shot at it before it kills again.” 

“You’re saying that our entire plan rests on Stiles’ ability to reject Lydia Martin?” Derek asks incredulously. “We’re doomed.” 

“I’m sure we can find other ways to help him. Provide commentary from the sidelines, for instance.” Peter says as his eyes dance with repressed merriment. 

“Ugh, no, _ew,_ you are not allowed to be there. No way. I can totally do this on my own! I can reject Lydia. It’s not like I’ve never done it before.” 

“You’ve rejected sexual advances from Lydia before?” Erica asks. “I don’t believe you.” 

“It’s true! You can lie-detect my heart! Lydia made a pass at me in her bedroom and I. Turned. Her. Down.”

“Dude,” Boyd says from the other side of the room, “ _Why_?” 

“I—It doesn’t matter. The point is that I can totally reject Lydia. By myself.” 

"There's no way we're going to let you face this thing by yourself, Stiles," Derek says quietly. 

"Batman, remember? Batman does tons of stuff by himself. I am not going to have you pervs watching while some Siren tries to get me off slash tear out my heart with her bear hands. _Not_ happening." 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Peter says even as Derek growls. “The only other thing we need to worry about is how to attract the Siren to you once we get to the club, then.”   
“Wait, I thought the virgin-ness of me would do that. Don’t I exude the whole ‘virgin’ thing already?” He gestures down to his slightly dirty hoody and jeans. 

“Hmm, sure,” Peter quirks his head. “But you’re not going to be the _only_ virgin at the club. We need to make you stand out.” 

From beside Stiles, Erica lets out a squeal, “You don’t mean?” 

“Yes, Erica, I do mean.”

“What? _What?_ ” Stiles starts to panic, trying to find the answer on the faces around him, “What does he mean?” 

_“Makeover!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow's Chapter is set in the club. Get ready cause the story's really going to pick up. The action's going to get a bit harder. The characters are really going to fill out.
> 
> This is my first Sterek fic so thanks for reading!


End file.
